Occasionally, I will catch myself doing or saying something very grown-up (“it’s time to study your spelling words”, “that music is so loud; I can’t hear myself think”) and I’ll wonder how it is that I look and act exactly like a 33 year old woman when I still feel like a very un grown-up kid a lot of the time.

I am an adult and have been for quite some time.  The birthdate on my driver’s license says so. The fact that the checkout girl at the liquor store asks for my ID not because she believes I’m under 18 but to verify that I haven’t stolen someone else’s credit card in order to purchase my grandmotherly bottle of Bailey’s Irish Creme. The way my bones snap, crackle and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies when I get up off the couch and the way that I can throw my back out with an out-of-nowhere sneeze evidences that I’m not in my teens (heck, twenties) anymore.

I spend my days meal planning and grocery shopping. I vacuum, clean the toilets and do an obscene amount of laundry. I chauffeur the kids back and forth to school and extra-curricular activities. I confer with their teachers about how they’re doing. I make and enforce the household rules. I help the kids with homework and manage to answer all of their questions like I actually know what I’m talking about. I am a wife, mother and homemaker. I’m even relatively successful at it.

I got a steam mop for Christmas and I was happy about it. Why? Because, when asked what I wanted for a gift, it was the only thing I could think of that I really, really wanted. Because getting down on my hands and knees to scrub the floor sure does a number on the old joints, don’t ya know.

I rarely drink alcohol and when I do, I limit myself to one or two because life doesn’t just stop when you’d like to let loose. Sometimes, I just want silence. My idea of finding something fun to spend extra cash on is buying a cute outfit for the kids at Gymboree. Or purchasing that terry towel shower curtain that I’ve been looking all over the place for. I wear flats because they’re practical. I put a toque on when it’s cold because you lose most of your body heat through the top of your head and vanity has no place in the middle of winter.

Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I still feel like a kid. I do a double-take every time someone calls me “ma’am.” I sometimes find it odd that my kids look up to me as though I’m a grown up, especially when they assume that I have the answers to everything. Clearly I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. For some reason, though, they don’t see that. Bless their little hearts, my kids really do believe that I’m a mature, responsible parental figure. What they don’t know is that I am a fraud. Here is how I know: 

When I was growing up, my parents were grown-ups. They did have the answers to everything. They did have everything figured out because even though they claimed to have been children once upon a time, they weren’t really. Or if they had been, it had passed really quickly. They did all sorts of parent-y things like chauffeur my brother and me to school and extra-curricular activities, do obscene amounts of laundry and cleaning, and make and enforce household rules. Obviously, they had this whole adult thing in the bag.  Because, naturally, you must pass some sort of wiseness and general maturity test in order to become parents. Duh.

It didn’t even dawn on me until I became hopelessly entrenched in this whole parenting thing myself that maybe my mom once felt the same way I do now. Like she was really just a kid masquerading as an adult who had everything figured out. That thought made me feel a little bit better about myself because if my mom ever felt like she was flying by the seat of her pants sometimes, it’s okay that I do, too. She’s making her way through parenthood and adulthood in general like she actually knows what she’s doing and, if I’m completely honest, I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it myself. It doesn’t really matter that I feel like an imposter sometimes as long as the rest of the world doesn’t manage to figure it out.

Maybe being stunted is a good thing after all. I don’t have to have everything figured out all the time to be successful in my life. I mean, I’ve come across lots of people who think they know it all and really, those people are kind of assholes. Sucks to be them. Heh.

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Ponderings, Random |